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Now Hear This

'In One Hundred Years'

A tiny spit of land that could barely accommodate an airfield, Tarawa was initially thought to be a relatively simple operation for an entire Marine division. Imperial Japanese Navy Rear Admiral Meichi Shibasaki (who proclaimed that "a million Americans could not take Tarawa in one hundred years") commanded the nearly 5,000-man enemy force. Clever intelligence methods accurately judged its strength by counting the latrines over the lagoon and estimating how many men they could service. What they could not gauge, however, was the determination and ferocity of the defenders or the superiority of the defense itself. That would be revealed in the three-day battle of November 1943 that would shock the assaulting force, the American public, our leadership in the Pacific as well as the White House, and change the way the remainder of the war would be fought.

Only once in the war prior to Tarawa had Americans seen pictures of their dead: three bodies placidly lying in the surf on the island of Buna, no faces or wounds showing. However, on seeing the pictures of the dead at Tarawa, President Franklin D. Roosevelt consciously decided to permit their viewing by the public to prepare them for the hard fighting ahead against Japan. What our countrymen saw was the extraordinary 35-mm combat footage of Marines and Japanese naval infantry in battle—the first film ever showing this in the same frame—and still photography of horribly ravaged bodies, many floating in the lagoon, bloated, with faces blackened in death by the equatorial heat.

To say that Roosevelt's intent of getting America's attention was satisfied does not do justice to the phrase. In another few weeks we would enter our third year of war, and still our country was horrified at the ghastly scenes filmed by photographers and combat correspondents. In this battle Major Norm Hatch's footage would be part of a documentary project that won an Academy Award in 1944, and a still photo would be awarded the second-ever Pulitzer Prize for a photo, all of which were firsts for America's military.

Tarawa would be remembered for many things; extraordinary bravery of unprotected men, chest deep in water, moving slowly toward the beach through incessant machine gun fire; inspired leaders at every level doing whatever it took to get their men to assault massive fortifications; loss of essential weapons and equipment while struggling to the beach and still making do with what was at hand; blistering, brutal heat from an overhead sun that would turn a casualty's face into bacon in a matter of minutes and rob his speech for lack of water.

Every veteran would remember it for still another unforgettable reason—the incredible stench of death that would impregnate all clothing, equipment, and one's memory forever. Even today it is the first comment heard from the diminishing ranks of Tarawa veterans. Later, when the naval squadrons operated from the island even for a short period pilots would complain of the hordes of flies forcing them to keep their canopies closed in the oppressive heat and interfering with food consumption by any means.

Smaller than New York City's Central Park, Tarawa was an island of concentrated death—violent, brutal, fanatical, merciless death—that shocked even the sensibilities of the numerous Guadalcanal and Solomons campaign veterans. Exactly 17 of Admiral Shibasaki's force would surrender, and of those several were Korean laborers. The lesson to our fledgling Joint Chiefs of Staff and to the President personally was clear: America must be prepared to fight the Japanese to the death for every square mile of territory in the Pacific on the path to Tokyo. This was not Europe. The concept of chivalry or battlefield honor was simply nonexistent. Furthermore, our enemy considered surrender dishonorable. An emphasis on the Manhattan Project—to produce an atomic bomb, now primarily for use against Japan—was given even greater presidential priority. More important, at the highest command level, the President showed the resolve to use it without question. Tarawa was a preview of what would face an Allied invasion force landing in Japan itself, and it was a price we would avoid at any cost. Such is the legacy of Tarawa.

Colonel Ripley served for 35 years on active duty in the Marine Corps. He earned the Navy Cross for valor after destroying the Bridge at Dong Ha during the Vietnam War. He also served as Director, Marine Corps History and Museums.